Into the Fire
by Weesta
Summary: How far will Sam go to save his brother? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

The boy had power. He coveted it since the moment he was born. It called to him; it sang to him. And as he stood over the baby's cradle, he knew he would have it – it belonged to him.

Killing the mother was a fringe benefit. Her death was inconsequential. What was important was the fire. The fire had to consume the baby before the power could be released. But he'd been thwarted; the father was quicker than he had realized. The baby was saved. And afraid of fire.

He could wait.

Though time held little meaning for him, he found himself growing impatient. The power in the boy grew stronger as the boy grew. It sang louder; it called to him. He needed to possess it.

Killing the girl was a fringe benefit. Her death was inconsequential. What was important was the fire. The fire had to consume the boy before the power could be released. But he'd been thwarted again. The boy was saved, and doubly afraid of fire.

He could no longer wait.

He had to possess the power. He ached to consume it as much as the fire ached to consume the boy. The boy could no longer be surprised, he was on guard. But how to entice him to enter the fire?

Put the one who had carried him out both times at the center.

* * *

Dean awoke feeling groggy. He could not remember much about the thing that had snatched him except that it was bad. And, that it was after Sam. Dad had known, all this time, Sam was the target; Sam was the goal. That's why he had trained them like he had – pushed and pushed until they both could take care of themselves under any circumstances. Then he let Sam go, to have a real life - a life that Dean had dragged him away from. This was exactly what Dad was trying to protect Sam from…and Dean had walked him right into it.

Dean tried to sit up but realized he was bound to the table on which he lay. One by one he tested the bonds; it seemed like they were all connected – he moved his right arm, the left got tighter – he shifted his feet, the rope tightened around his neck. _Great, I've got a regular cowboy tying me up here…_ The only good thing about the arrangement was if he managed to get one hand free he could easily slip the bonds of the others.

"He's coming."

Dean froze; he hadn't realized he wasn't alone. The voice floating across the room was hard to place; Dean thought the creature might have been standing over to his right. The anticipation in the malevolent voice sent a shiver down his spine. There was only one "he" Dean knew could be coming and this was the last place Sam should be. Dean tried more frantically to figure out the trick to the ropes holding him and work himself free.

"Welcome, young one." Dean's head whipped around. Sam stood silhouetted in the doorway. "I've been waiting for you for a long time."

Dean could see that Sam was tight with tension. The blade he held in his hand seemed to gather all the light in the dimly lit room. A conversation he had with Sam came back to him and Sam's words echoed in his head. _**You're my brother. I would die for you**. _

_Not today, Sam. This isn't that day._

Dean tried to shout out a warning but found himself unable to produce more than a hoarse croak. He grimaced in frustration and tried to work some saliva down to his throat.

"Come in." the creature invited in a disturbing friendly neighbor sort of way. "It's time we take care of business." The naked longing in the creature's voice filled Dean with disgust. If Sam had any sense he would've headed for the exit long ago – that was assuming Sam had any sense.

"I've come for my brother." Sam stepped grimly into the room, knife at the ready.

"Of course, of course. That's why we're all here. All it'll take to free him is one slice from that knife."

It was too easy. Dean knew it, and he saw that Sam knew it too. He might not have common sense, but he wasn't stupid. Dean tried again to croak out a warning, but he still couldn't produce anything audible.

"You hesitate, little one." Dean rolled his eyes – Sam hadn't been little since he hit puberty. This guy's tone was really working his nerves.

"Perhaps your brother doesn't mean as much to you as I thought." A sound from behind him alerted Dean to a sword being drawn. _Oh crap! _Dean worked harder to try to free himself; Sam inched closer.

"I shall put you to the test."

Dean could only see the sword hovering above him, not the hand that wielded it. He braced himself for a blow. He was not expecting what happened instead. A sliver of blue-white flame shot from the tip of the sword and quickly encircled the table Dean was laying on. Instantly flames shot up all around. Dean couldn't suppress a flinch, and the movement of his legs nearly caused the rope around his neck to choke him.

Dean could hear the murmured whispering of the creature, encouraging Sam to run into the fire. He tried to scream a warning to Sam. He wanted to tell him to run away, leave him, save himself. He wanted to warn of the creature's desire for Sam's death. But all he managed to croak out was "Sam…" before the smoke from the flames and the ropes around his neck choked everything else he wanted to say into unintelligible nonsense.

Dean knew he had failed. He knew Sam would hear his cry, not as a warning, but as a plea for help. Nothing would stop Sam from leaping into the inferno – it would consume them both.

At first, Dean could hear Sam screaming his name but then the roar of the flames destroyed all other sound. There was no air left to breathe, and Dean prayed for oblivion before the fire could begin to consume his flesh. Then like an avenging angel, Sam leapt into the fire. He landed on Dean's chest and with a swift slash of the knife severed the rope encircling Dean's neck. But it was too late. Dean could see the fire all around Sam – his shirt, his pants, even his hair was on fire. There even seemed to be flames in his eyes. It was the most gruesome sight Dean had ever seen. He closed his eyes and got his wish – oblivion came.

* * *

"Dean?" _Can't a guy sleep in…ever?_

"Dean." More demanding this time.

Dean tried to force his eyes to open, but they really didn't want to obey. He groaned instead, and then groaned again at how much pain it caused. The pain kicked off a memory and he remembered why it was his throat hurt so badly.

Eyes still closed, Dean groped to find the owner of the voice. "Sam? Sammy?" Struggling to sit up and grateful to realize he wasn't tied to a table anymore Dean finally managed to open his eyes. Grabbing Sam by his jacket, Dean pulled him closer to get a really good look at his face. "Sammy?" he repeated.

Sam could only work up a tired grimace at the old argument between them. "It's Sam." Unexpectedly Sam moved in closer to Dean and dropped his head on Dean's shoulder. Dean could feel the tremors that shook his body. He let go of Sam's jacket and put one arm around Sam's shoulders.

"What happened, Sam?"

Sam didn't answer; he just shook harder in Dean's embrace. Dean looked around warily. "Is it safe to stay here, Sam?" Sam nodded into Dean's shoulder. "Then tell me what happened."

Without looking at Dean, Sam turned himself around so he could settle against Dean's shoulder with his back to him. "Remember that secret I never told you…"

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

It was harder and harder for Sam to keep the dreams a secret. It felt like the more he fought them, the more difficult they were to drive away. Sam couldn't help the fact that almost any moment of sleep he grabbed ended in a nightmare. Sam knew that Dean was concerned, but he'd been able to hold him off a little. Dean still thought the dreams were about Jess. In a way Sam wished they were.

Sam suppressed a shudder as he stared out the window. The last time this had happened the dreams had foretold Jessica's death. In a desperate attempt to hold on to some semblance of a normal life Sam tried to ignore the warnings, hoping that if he didn't give weight to the dreams they wouldn't come true. Now he knew how wrong he was and he was determined not to let it happen again. He couldn't lose Dean; not like that. This time he would be prepared.

Sam pretended to stare at the scenery flying by outside the window; in actuality he was replaying the scene from his nightmare. It wasn't difficult; the images were etched in his memory. Dean was tied to a table in the middle of a small room - Sam shuddered when his brain translated the image of the table and came up with "alter". Surrounding the table (_not alter, alter implies sacrifice_) were neatly ordered piles of wood and kindling. Every time he had the dream when Sam realized Dean was trapped in the center of what would become a bonfire his heart started hammering in his chest. He couldn't let Dean die like that…but in his nightmares it happened every time.

The thing that snatched Dean was hiding in the shadows beyond him. The dialogue they exchanged was never anything Sam remembered; he supposed that talk was less important than action. In the dream he never got a good look at the creature who was threatening Dean; it seemed to have a human shape, but never came far enough out of the shadows for Sam to be sure. It didn't matter to Sam anyway – he was far more focused on determining how to free Dean than subduing the creature. And he thought he figured out something important.

These dreams that haunted Sam were not run of the mill nightmares; there was something more to them, something prophetic. And because they were coming from somewhere inside himself, Sam found that the more he investigated the images in the dream, the more power he had over them. He could see the images of the room and the people in it, but he could also step outside himself and see what he was doing as well. It was when he did one of these "out of body" investigations that he realized that he was holding a weapon when he entered the room; he knew in his heart that that knife was the key to freeing Dean. But it wasn't a knife he recognized, and he had no idea where he was going to get it.

Unbeknownst to Sam, as the miles slipped away on the highway and he examined the messages from his dream, he had fallen into a true sleep, and the dream had started again.

* * *

_The woods around him were silent. The creature had passed this way probably more than twenty minutes ago, and the animals that lived in the forest still hid in fear- it took a powerfully evil creature to cause that great a disturbance._

_Sam tightened his grip on the hilt of the knife in his right hand. He was close; he could feel it._

_The ramshackle wooden house in the clearing had a feeling of decay and long disuse. Dean was in there. Sam approached cautiously, but he wasn't expecting any surprises. The big trap was at the center, and he was walking right into it._

_Without knowing how, Sam knew to head for the basement. This all had such a familiar feel to it. His pulse started to quicken. The hilt of the knife became slick in his sweaty palm. He headed for the small room at the rear of the basement; his path lit by sporadically placed candles._

_Sam hesitated in the doorway – before him was the scene of him worst nightmare. Dean was tied to a table in the center of the room. All around the table lay stacks of wood and kindling. It occurred to Sam that all of the broken furniture he'd walked past in the house was just as combustible as the wood surrounding Dean; the whole house was a firetrap…and wasn't that the point?_

_Sam wanted to run, he knew what was going to happen, and his overwhelming fear of fire had him quaking inside; but he would not give in to his fear. He tried to work up some bravado while he exchanged words with the creature hoping to buy himself and Dean some time so he could get closer and free Dean from the ropes that bound him._

_But he wasn't fast enough. He wasn't smart enough. The creature calls his bluff, drawing an ancient sword, not to use on Dean, but to call up the fire. Not the warm and comforting yellow and orange blaze of a marshmallow roasting fire; no, this was a white-hot, incandescent fire instantly consuming all of the wood surrounding Dean._

_Sam is frozen in fear, unable to move away from or toward the flames. The creature whispers something, but Sam cannot make it out over the roar of the fire. He can hear Dean yell to him, but all he can do in response is scream his brother's name. "DEAN!" Dean's cries become frantic and anguished as the flames consume him. _

_In the dream, though not when he wakes, Sam understands why he cannot leap into the fire to rescue Dean; the leap calls for a sacrifice – not just of the body, but of the soul. On a level he's never tapped into Sam understands that the fire will change him, and accepting that change is more terrifying than death itself. It's the one part of the dream he needs to take with him, but he never does._

* * *

Sam jerks awake careening forward. At the very last second he stops himself from screaming Dean's name and manages to make it more of a guttural yell. A familiar hand from the left side of the car grabs Sam's left shoulder.

"Sammy? You okay?"

Sam doesn't acknowledge the childhood nickname; he's too consumed with trying to calm his racing heart and control his breathing. He just nods and leans back against the seat with his eyes closed. _I have got to find that knife._

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

The highway flew by outside the windows. The monotonous scenery might have been hypnotic under different circumstances, but Dean couldn't afford to allow himself to be mesmerized by the road. As it stood now, he was their only driver and he had to get Sam some help, and soon. It had been days since Dean let Sam drive. He didn't know what bothered him more – that Sam was so incapacitated by his lack of sleep to the point where he was basically ineffective, or that Sam didn't even bother to fight him about the driving anymore.

Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye at his brother. Sam was in kind of a semi-daze leaning against the passenger side window – not quite awake, but certainly not asleep. Dean had gotten pretty good at reading Sam's body language and was able to anticipate the onset of one of those dreams. For now, Sam was fine, but Dean was ready to jump in if he saw Sam slipping into a nightmare. Dean was having a hard time, being short on sleep himself, and knew if they had any chance of finding Dad or doing _anything_ something would have to be done for Sam first.

The sign for Lake Tenkiller caught Dean's eye and he moved to the exit ramp for Route 10 North. As they left Interstate 40 behind and headed north, the road became a little rougher and the scenery more rustic. A little flicker of hope kindled in Dean's heart; he remembered this place – he liked it. In spite of the creature he and Dad neutralized in this little corner of Oklahoma, Dean carried good memories of that "hunting trip". All of those good memories were attributed to the man Dean was bringing Sam to see. Somewhere along the line, Dean became convinced that he was the one man who could help Sam find some peace.

* * *

They managed to travel the entire distance, from the Interstate to the lake, with no outbursts from Sam. _Wow_ Dean thought sarcastically _he got a whole forty minutes of sleep - a new record._

Unceremoniously Dean reached over and smacked Sam in the chest as he threw the car into park. "Wake up Sleeping Beauty…time to meet your prince."

Sam didn't respond; he just gave Dean an utterly confused glance. He looked blearily out the windshield at their surroundings. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Lake Tenkiller, Oklahoma." replied Dean.

Sam raised an eyebrow at the name of their location. Dean just shrugged. "It's better than Lake Fortykiller, I guess." Dean leaned toward the door and levered himself out of the car; Sam exited with less grace, but Dean gave him credit for trying to get himself together enough to face whatever demon now lay in their path, not knowing it was _his_ demon they were there to face.

Dean had pulled the car up a long dirt driveway, facing a small but neatly kept one-story wooden house. A man stood on the porch watching the brothers. When they were both out of the car he approached, holding a hand out to Dean.

"Dean Winchester, you are welcome here." the man said warmly. He was dressed in worn jeans and a dusty, red work shirt. He wore his steel grey hair long and loose down his back. His neck was adorned with a simple leather bag on a black leather cord.

"Hey Jonathan!" Dean returned the greeting reaching out to shake the man's hand. "How're things?"

"Everything has returned to normal since you and your father visited."

Dean shook his head and grinned. "Good. Uh, this here's my brother, Sam." Dean turned and gestured to Sam whose deeply ingrained good manners kicked in and propelled him to offer his hand to Jonathan as well. He seemed perplexed by Dean's familiarity with this man. Dean chuckled internally – if Sam though he was being familiar now, wait until he really got started.

"You are welcome, Sam Winchester. We owe your family a great debt. Please, come in." The man gestured toward the house and led the brothers into his neatly organized living room. He immediately offered food and drinks which Dean eagerly accepted. Once Jonathan had gone off to the kitchen, Sam leaned over to Dean.

"What's the deal, Dean?"

"Oh, you know. Jonathan called us in to deal with a local legend. Ever hear the story of Spearfinger?"

Sam's brown creased in a frown. He shook his head slightly _no_.

Dean smiled; for once he was the one who knew a story off the top of his head. "See, Spearfinger is a Cherokee legend. She was this old woman who lived in the forest and would lure kids to her."

"Like Hansel and Gretel?" Sam asked.

"Not exactly," Dean continued. "Spearfinger would offer to comb the children's hair and when they got close enough, spear them with her bony finger. Then she'd eat their livers and suck the life out of them. If the kids managed to get away, she could take on the appearance of a family member, enter the house and get the kids in their sleep."

Sam's eyebrows rose in astonishment, but he knew Dean wasn't pulling one over on him. They'd dealt with crazier things.

"The thing is, Spearfinger doesn't leave any marks – no bruises, no cuts, no bleeding. The kids just start to get weak and die. Jonathan tried to tell the local authorities what he thought was going on. Of course they didn't believe him – they just chalked up his story to the ramblings of an old man unwilling to accept that one of his grandchildren was sick and going to die."

"So he called Dad?"

Dean nodded. "Yep. We came down. Jonathan helped up set a trap for Spearfinger. We shot off her finger. End of story."

"Not exactly the end." said a voice from behind them. Sam jumped. Jonathan walked around the couch and set the tray he'd been carrying on the coffee table before them.

"The end," he continued, "was the returned health to all of the children Spearfinger had attacked. Many lives were saved. Our gratitude is boundless and the debt can never fully be repaid."

Dean perked up. This was the perfect opening. "Well," he began around a mouthful of sandwich, "I have a way you can start…"

Jonathan leaned forward expectantly. Dean continued, "See Sammy here has been having these wicked nightmares…and I thought, you know, you could do some of that Native American spirit stuff and you might be able to help."

Sam's jaw dropped and he looked thunderstruck. But Jonathan looked at him in speculation. Dean happily munched on his sandwich.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Sam didn't know what offended him more – Dean sharing his very personal issues with this man who was a virtual stranger, or the fact that he'd asked for help from Jonathan and his "Native American spirit stuff". It was nearly a draw.

Sam stared incredulously at Dean. He couldn't even come up with anything particularly appropriate to say. An exasperated "Dean!" was all he managed to come up with.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "Look Sam, you've got to deal with these dreams. You can't sleep. You haven't eaten in days. And don't think I'm going all soft on ya…this is about _me_. I'm not getting my ass killed because you can't stay awake long enough to watch my back."

Sam's face clouded with anger – all he was hearing from Dean was criticism and selfishness. Preventing Dean's death was all Sam _could_ think about and here he was accusing Sam of potentially being the cause of his demise. It infuriated Sam.

Though Sam was functioning on too little sleep to pick up on Dean's underlying concern for him, Jonathan caught it loud and clear. He could sense that the brothers were at an important crossroad in their lives – Dean was so focused on Sam, that he didn't see how his own path cried out for redirection.

Sam stood abruptly. "Can I talk to you?" Sam demanded and headed out to the porch without waiting for Dean to respond. Dean flashed his patented grin at Jonathan as he rose to follow Sam, but Jonathan could sense his underlying determination. He'd brought Sam this far to get him some help. As Dean disappeared onto the porch, Jonathan rose from where he'd been seated as well. Assuming Dean won the argument that was about to break out, it would be easier for all of them if he was ready.

When Sam heard Dean's footfalls on the wooden porch behind him, he whirled angrily to face his brother. "What the hell are you doing, Dean?"

Gone was the grin and playful manner; Dean was all business as he stalked toward Sam; he cut right to the chase giving Sam no room for argument.. "What am _I_ doing? What I'm doing is pretty clear. How about filling me in on what's going on with you?" Dean strode closer as he yelled at Sam; Sam looked away. "You can't even look me in the eye, Sammy!"

Suddenly, Dean ran out of steam. He ended up standing right in front of Sam. If it wasn't such a girly thing to do, he would've reached out to put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I know I can't help you, Sam. I don't know why you won't let me." It stunned Sam to hear the hurt in Dean's voice. He looked up to look at Dean's face, but now it was Dean who had to look away. "So if you won't let me help you, maybe you'll let someone else do it."

Sam's brow creased with thought as he tried to work things out. Could it be possible that by bringing him here Dean was somehow responsible for changing his own destiny; or, would an action taken here seal Dean's fate? The possibilities made Sam's head hurt and he felt as frozen by indecision as he did in his dreams. He'd pushed so long to try to solve the dreams on his own he basically couldn't think straight; and now that he _was _thinking about it, he realized he was no longer clear on why he'd been keeping the dreams from Dean in the first place. He hadn't shared anything with Jessica, and because of that she was dead. But at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to tell Dean that the nightmares had changed and that Dean was now in the fiery center.

Sam could feel his resolve crumbling. He'd had almost no success deconstructing the dreams on his own, and he felt strongly that time was running out. He'd spent so long trying to control the dreams on his own with no success that he was just about ready to accept an outside source of help. Maybe this was just what he needed – a guide, someone to help interpret the messages he seemed to be getting from somewhere deep inside.

Dean sensed Sam's indecision and continued to press him. "Look Sammy, of all the people Dad and I have met on our "hunting trips", Jonathan's the real deal. Of all the nasty, evil things we've had to destroy, he's one of the bright lights keeping all of that stuff at bay. I trust him. He can help you, Sam."

Again, Sam was stunned by Dean; he sounded almost philosophical. The more time he spent with his brother as an adult, the more he realized he hardly knew him at all. But one thing he did know about Dean, an irrefutable fact that was one of the foundations of his life, was that Dean always looked out for him. Sure, they had their arguments and didn't agree on how to do things all the time, but when push came to shove Dean was always there for him. He trusted Dean with his life; and if Dean trusted Jonathan, then Sam could too.

Sam let out a heavy sigh and leaned back against the porch railing. "Okay."

"Okay?" Dean repeated, needing confirmation.

"Okay." Sam said again. "I don't know if this friend of yours can do anything…but at the very least, it can't hurt, right?"

Dean was too shocked by Sam's almost immediate capitulation to do anything. The sound of the front door opening caught the attention of both brothers. Sam lifted his head to look at Jonathan, while Dean turned to face him. Jonathan was no longer wearing jeans and a shirt; he had donned a rawhide robe and carried a tray of items Sam couldn't identify. Dean gave one sharp clap with his hands, "What do we do?" Now that Sam had agreed to let someone help him, Dean was eager to begin.

Jonathan knocked the wind out of his sails immediately. "_We_ do nothing, Dean Winchester. This is a journey your brother will take alone."

Because Sam was standing behind Dean he could see his shoulders tense; Dean was preparing for an argument. Jonathan cut him off again. "You have completed your part of this journey, Dean. It fell to you to bring Sam here. Now, for a time, he must travel alone."

"Where is he going?" Dean demanded, angry to have been so quickly cut out of the proceedings after working so long to get Sam to this point.

With a slight smile on his face Jonathan replied. "To the backyard."

* * *

The three men gathered in the yard behind the house. The yard was as neat and as well kept as the house. Everything growing there seemed to have a purpose and a place. Sam found the overall effect of the place very calming and soothing; he supposed that was the intention. Jonathan led the way past the well tended gardens abundant with vegetables and herbs until they stood before a wooden structure. At first glance the structure might have been mistaken for a large shed, but the thin curl of smoke escaping from a hole in the roof spoke of a different purpose. 

"This is where your journey will begin, Sam Winchester, once you are prepared."

Dean looked at the structure with skepticism. "He's gonna go in there and work all this stuff out? What's it…like a sweat lodge? You gonna 'smoke 'um peace pipe' and all that?" Dean grinned even as he mimed smoking a pipe.

Sam grimaced. Dean was just coming out with all sorts of inappropriate and politically incorrect things to say. He didn't know how Jonathan resisted smacking him upside his head.

"It is a place to start."

Sam looked at the building. He could feel his apprehension building in his chest, but he was surprised to realize, hope was growing as well. Maybe this could be something – if nothing else, it might give him a clue as to how to prevent his visions of Dean dying in the fire from coming true. That was all he really wanted – he had to find a way to save Dean.

Sam was so focused on his own thoughts that he didn't realize that Jonathan was dismissing Dean. "This journey will take some time, Dean Winchester - a few hours at the very least. You are welcome to make yourself comfortable in the house – eat, sleep, whatever you choose. All I ask is that once we have begun, that you do not interrupt us."

Dean took a deep breath, and Sam realized that in spite of his bravado and blustering Dean was just as apprehensive about this whole thing as he was. Dean nodded as he released the air from his lungs. "Okay Sam?" It struck Sam as funny – Dean wasn't asking if he was okay. After all of the effort Dean had gone through to get him to this point, what he was really asking was if Sam was willing to go through with the ritual, because if he wasn't Dean would back him up and they would find another way.

"Yeah…it's okay." Sam nodded with more confidence than he felt. Dean gave him a searching look. Then satisfied with what he saw on Sam's face, turned to go back to the house.

"Dean!" Sam called. Dean stopped and looked back over his shoulder. "Thanks."

Dean grinned and resumed walking. "You're gonna owe me, Sam." he called out.

"I already do." Sam replied far too low for Dean to hear him.

Sam turned to Jonathan who had been waiting patiently during the exchange. "We will begin." he stated. "Is it true what your brother said, you have not eaten in days?"

Sam squinted his eyes as he thought back. His lack of sleep was defiantly impeding his memory skills. "Yeah, at least a day or two since I had a real meal."

"That is good. You have already fasted."

Jonathan led Sam to the lean-to area attached to the larger shed and instructed him to remove his clothing. Sam was relieved that Jonathan did not insist that he remove his boxers, because if he had, the whole experiment would've ended right there. Jonathan took a pitcher of water from a niche in the wall and poured it over Sam's head as he mumbled an incantation in a language Sam didn't recognize. Sam shivered as the cold water sluiced down his shoulders and back.

Jonathan removed his robe and Sam was relieved again to realize that the older man wasn't naked. He was wearing what appeared to be a loincloth. Gathering the tray with the things he'd brought out from the house, Jonathan opened the door to the shed and gestured for Sam to precede him into the room.

Sam had only taken a few steps when Jonathan closed the door behind them. In the center of the room was a small fire pit. A fire was already crackling away – the source of the smoke they had seen from outside. Jonathan made an adjustment to the leather square situated below the smoke-hole and maneuvered it so that more of the smoke would be trapped inside the room. Sam busied himself by looking around as Jonathan prepared for the ritual.

The floor of the building was not plain or dirt packed the way Sam was expecting. Instead, on the floor was a series of interlocking circles. He was standing in the white quadrant; he could see how the colors changed as he looked clockwise around the circle – black, blue, red. It was a pattern Sam recognized. Many cultures had the idea of a "wheel of life" and the Cherokee Medicine Wheel was represented on the floor. Sam didn't know the specifics of the placement of each color, but he was sure Jonathan would elaborate. Sam was so intent on examining the floor that he hadn't noticed Jonathan add a number of herbs to the fire. The smoke in the room became more pungent, and Sam breathed deeply. Unbeknownst to him, he was already entering a trance-like state; far more open to the unknown than usually allowed himself to be.

Jonathan was pleased to note how receptive Sam was to the proceedings, even before they had begun. He approached where Sam was standing, eyes half closed. Speaking as a teacher would to a student, Jonathan began.

"Your journey begins, as all life begins, in the South. This part of the wheel represents innocence, childhood; the season is summer. Your journey on this part of the wheel has been sadly short, and so we must travel on." With a hand on Sam's left bicep, Jonathan guided Sam into the next quadrant of the circle.

Standing in the black portion of the circle, Jonathan continued. "The West part of the wheel represents your adolescent understanding of life of the flesh. You must learn that all life ends in death, as the season of autumn teaches us every year. Once again, your lessons came early on this part of your journey, and we will travel on."

Jonathan walked Sam to the next colored circle, and stood with him in the blue quadrant as he continued talking. "You have come as an adult to this part of your journey – exercising your mind. In the North, in this season of winter you fight to survive. Though this leg of your journey is not yet complete, we must travel on."

By now, Sam's eyes had fully closed. He was solely led by the hand on his arm and the voice of his guide. Jonathan could feel him listening with an interior ear, as if he knew just how important the lessons he learned here were going to be. Jonathan led him to the final quadrant – East. "Here in the Spring, you will find reawakening, and victory over winter. It is here you will embark on the journey of spirit, and learn to embrace your very self."

Jonathan could feel Sam trembling in his grasp. Though on a deep level Sam understood that this examination was exactly what he needed to do, it still frightened him. Jonathan backed Sam up a few paces and pushed him until he sat on a bench in the Eastern quadrant of the circle. Sam had opened his eyes and was staring fixedly at the fire.

Though he had only known Sam a short time, Jonathan felt very drawn to him. Jonathan could sense the heavy burden Sam had been carrying and wanted to help him lessen his load.

"Tell me, Sam Winchester. Tell me of the dreams that haunt you. Together we may find the path to lead you from their torment."

Sam turned to Jonathan for the first time since entering the building. His eyes were filled with fear and sparkled with reflections from the flames at the center of the circles. "I know the path," Sam whispered hoarsely and swallowed hard. "…it's through the fire."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

The creature stood in the shadows, mesmerized. The power in the boy was much more focused; it sang louder than it ever had, and the creature responded to its call. He lost track of how long he stood enthralled outside the structure behind the main house. The old man had helped the boy, and now he was the most open he had ever been to his power. The residual power flowing from the small structure was intoxicating. Then the creature felt a thrill of fear – was it possible the boy would learn how to access the power on his own, before he could steal it?

The shiver of emotion surprised the creature – he had drifted so long in the human realm that it had literally been ages since he felt anything. He enjoyed creating fear and pain in others, but their emotions touched him very little. How was it that the power in this boy could call up such emotion in him? It wasn't hard to determine; it had been so long since anything was out of his reach, so long since the last time he had been denied, that the quest to possess the boy's power had reawakened old feelings in him. It was invigorating.

The creature changed his feelings into actions. Realizing that this was the opportunity he had been seeking he left the enthralling siren call of the boy's power and headed toward the house. The boy would never come to him voluntarily; he had to be drawn in. His brother was the one who had saved him from the fire before; there was no way the boy would leave him to a fiery death. With growing anticipation the creature approached the house. With the old man and the boy deeply involved in their work there would be nothing to stop him from taking the brother.

Confidently the creature approached the house. He could see the brother through the window. Unaware of the danger lurking so close by he had allowed himself to fall asleep on the couch. The creature arrogantly approached the porch certain that nothing could prevent him from taking the brother and ultimately possessing the younger boy's power. That was until he attempted to bound up the porch steps. Like a man in a dream, the creature lifted his foot to take the first step…and missed.

Frustrated and uncomprehending the creature tried again. He lifted his foot and moved forward to go up the stairs, but an invisible presence prevented his forward movement. Frustration blossomed into anger. He would not be denied! He attempted to enter every door and window, but each time was prevented by some invisible force. Consumed with rage, the creature stood where he had begun – the view of the sleeping man on the couch only infuriated him further – the boy was so close! How was his access being denied?

The creature suppressed his rage by pure force of will. On some level he knew he was now working against the clock – whereas time usually held no meaning for him, he understood that he needed to be in possession of the brother before the boy accepted the power within himself. The unusual circumstances again sent a thrill of emotion through the creature. The anticipation and challenge of this quest were like nothing he'd felt in ages, and they spurred him on to greater efforts.

Once again in control, the creature examined the house clinically. Almost immediately he could identify the source of the power preventing his access to the house. Hanging in regular intervals around the porch, and likely within the house, were simply woven dream catchers. Though their construction was not complex, the creature could see that the dream catchers were imbued with white power. Now he understood why the brother had not sensed his presence – he was surrounded by the old man's energy and protection. The creature could use that to his advantage. The brother had been lulled by the false sense of security, so much so that he was deeply asleep inside the house. Once the creature had breached the house the man inside would have no warning of his arrival.

The creature turned his attention back the porch; there were three dream catchers hanging there. He focused specifically on the one hanging closest to the front door. The creature didn't need to eliminate all of the potent talismans; he merely needed to weaken one. All he needed was a breach through which he could enter the house. Again, time was working against him and it gave him a thrill. There was no telling when the boy and old man would return. There was no telling if the brother would awaken and elude him. The thrill of the chase drove the creature on.

Though the old man had a certain amount of skill, the creature had lived for far longer than the span of one human life, and the power at his disposal was nearly boundless. The creature was physically unable to touch the dream catcher dangling above the door, but he didn't need to. This creature was one who encouraged death and decay. All of the materials that made up the talisman were natural materials – all of which tended toward decay, he just needed to encourage it.

As he allowed his power to work, the creature gazed upon the man sleeping just out of his reach. For as long as he walked in this human realm, he had never come to understand these lesser beings. What was it about being born into a family that made them so protective of each other? What was it that compelled them to intervene to the point where they were willing to give up their already short lives for one another? What was it about this man that would draw the other to his side? He didn't know. But he did know it to be true – that was enough.

A soft _clunk_ indicated that the dream catcher had fallen. The creature tested his power against the force that had kept him at bay. A satisfied smile crossed his face as he successfully stepped onto the wooden staircase. Moving swiftly and silently the creature glided up the rest of the stairs and entered the house.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Dean was a little disgruntled when Jonathan dismissed him from the backyard. He was glad his brilliant plan succeeded – he believed with all of his heart that Jonathan would be able to help Sam, he wasn't sure _how_ but he knew the older man could do it. But that left Dean with nothing to do. He hated being bored.

It was bad enough being bored in your own home, but at least in your own place you knew were everything was. Being bored in someone else's home was torturous. Even as Dean wandered around Jonathan's home in the back of his head he was thinking _don't touch that_ or _don't break that_. Dean had very little understanding of Native American artifacts, but even he realized that certain items in Jonathan's house held power, and Dean was leery of disrupting any protections that Jonathan had set up. There was a knife displayed in a case in the dining room that particularly drew Dean's attention; he couldn't explain why. But eventually staring at the knife became boring as well and Dean drifted away.

Dean took Jonathan at his word about helping himself to food. Although Jonathan had fed them when they arrived, Dean grabbed some chips and a beer. He wandered back to the living room and decided to kill some brain cells watching TV. There was really nothing better to do. He wasn't a reader like Sam, so the boob tube would have to do. But even the TV couldn't keep Dean's attention for long. He stared unblinking at the Weather Channel and wondered what was going on in the shed in the backyard.

Could Native American mysticism really help Sam? Was this journey of self what he needed to do to beat the nightmares? Dean wasn't sure if what they were doing out there would eliminate the nightmares completely; after all, this thing with Jess was only the most recent manifestation of an ongoing problem. Sam had been prone to nightmares his whole life. Dean knew; he was always the one who helped with them.

It had been different when they were little. Sam didn't remember the dreams then, not like now – sometimes he didn't even wake up. "Night terrors" was what Dad had called them. And there had been nothing he or Dad could do for Sam then either. Dad had never been a big hugger, so there was no one to comfort or cuddle Sam when the nightmares came. Dean did what he could by sitting on the end of Sam's bed close enough that Sam's feet rested on his leg. Dean wasn't sure if Sam knew he was there, but he always seemed to quiet down faster when Dean was close by. And if, on a particularly bad night, Sam wormed himself around until he was curled in a ball under Dean's arm, it didn't really qualify as a hug.

Dean shifted on the couch pulling one leg up to stretch out while leaning back against the pillows piled near the arm of the couch, and thought about his brother. Of course Sam would be traumatized by Jess' death. Of course the image of her would haunt his dreams. But to Dean, it seemed like Sam's nightmares were getting worse. Something had changed and Dean couldn't put his finger on it.

Dean started slightly when he realized he had almost drifted off to sleep. He knew that remaining in his prone position would only invite sleep; and though he tried to rouse himself, he couldn't manage to get himself off of the couch. In the last few days Dean had gotten about as much sleep as Sam – which was to say, very little. Being in Jonathan's house gave Dean a feeling of safety. And knowing that Sam was with someone who would look out for him just as much as Dean himself would was very reassuring. The combination of the two factors was just too much to resist, and Dean allowed himself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Before he had roused to full consciousness, Dean sensed he was in trouble. This was what he knew – he was no longer alone, he wasn't safe, and he had no weapon. But he knew where to get one. He didn't need to think it through; he allowed instinct to take over. Blindly, Dean jackknifed into a seated position, hurled himself off the end of the couch and made a run for the dining room. A grunt of surprise indicated that his sudden movement had taken his attacker unaware, but Dean's advantage was short lived.

Though he was full of adrenaline he was not quite awake, and his grogginess rendered him unable to navigate Jonathan's unfamiliar house as quickly as the thing that was after him. Dean cursed his foolish decision to fall asleep even as his assailant tackled him to the floor of the dining room. Dean twisted trying to avoid being pinned. He landed a solid hit or two, but whatever grabbed him didn't seem to be fazed by his blows.

Dean managed to get to his feet and lurched further into the dining room. Although the knife on display was the weapon he was attempting to get his hands on, he wasn't above using the chairs or anything else he could lay his hands on to keep his attacker at bay. Even as he struggled to stay out of the reach of his attacker, Dean attempted to figure out what it was. Definitely not a ghost – not a whiff of ozone in the air. Dean thought whatever he was fighting had a human shape, but he couldn't get a look at its face. While what he was fighting looked like it could've been human, it moved with inhuman speed and had incredible strength.

Dean grunted as a flying chair clipped him on the side of his head and drove him to his knees. _Damn copycat _he thought _can't even come up with his own moves…_

The blow from the chair had set his head to ringing and his vision faded to grey. Dean struggled to get back on his feet, but he was out of time. His attacker pounced on him from behind. One arm encircled him from the left, pinning both his arms to his sides, and lifting him off of his feet taking away his leverage. The other hand crushed his airway. Dean struggled frantically for any way to break out of the creature's grip, but all of his efforts were fruitless.

Dean fought for air as the creature carried him through the dining room; he tried to impede their progress by kicking or tripping him up, but it was useless – his limb were less and less responsive as they were starved for air. Black stars bloomed in Dean's vision as he was carried out of the house and down the porch; he had never felt so helpless in his life. He could feel conscious thought slipping away, but snapped back to awareness when he realized the creature was talking about Sam.

_Sam!_ Dean's eyes darted around the yard, but there was no cavalry coming to his rescue. He tried to stay focused and listen to what the creature was saying, but it was hard. His attacker seemed to sense Dean's renewed attention and loosened his grip on Dean's throat. The sweet intake of air was as painful as it was gratifying.

"You need not struggle so." The creature's breath was hot on Dean's face as it leaned in to speak to him, as though telling him a special secret. "I have no desire to kill you." Dean didn't believe its words for an instant, and he increased his struggles against his captor. But its next words made him freeze. "Your brother will come for you, and then I will have what I have sought for so long."

_Sam! This thing wanted Sam! And he was the bait._

"No!"

"That's what your father said too. 'You can't have Sam'" the creature mocked in a sweetly falsetto voice.

Dean was so enraged by the idea that this thing was talking about killing Sam, and bringing his father into it that he managed to yank his left arm free and use it as leverage to loosen the creature's hold on his throat. The creature still had a grip on Dean's right arm, but that didn't prevent Dean from making an all-out assault on it. Kicking, punching, screaming, Dean drove the creature back toward the porch. What infuriated Dean even more was that the creature seemed to be indulging him – like he was some four year old having a tantrum.

All Dean could think of was how he could break away and warn Sam.

Suddenly the creature had had enough. One solid blow to Dean's chest knocked the air out of him. The creature spun him around and pulled him close to its chest. The crushing grip on his throat was reestablished and this time it didn't let up. Dean struggled to the end, but it was to no avail. After a minute or two his struggles ceased and he slumped in the creature's grip. Satisfied that Dean would no longer cause him any difficulty, the creature slung him across his shoulders and headed off into the woods.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Before he could lose his nerve, Sam took a deep breath and described his nightmare to Jonathan. He shared every excruciating and painful detail. He was shocked at the level of his own self-recrimination considering that the dream was about an event that had never actually taken place. He told of his fear and indecision, and how it grieved him to watch his brother be consumed in the fire. And he told Jonathan, what he never thought he would share with anyone in his life – how he was not afraid of being killed by the fire, he was afraid of being _changed_ by it.

"I know…I know I can't leave Dean to die the way I've seen in my nightmares," Sam stated, "but there is something about the fire I can't explain…like it's been waiting for me." Sam took a deep breath to control his breathing. Even talking about his fear was freaking him out. Sam shook his head frustrated by being unable to express himself clearly.

Jonathan pushed Sam to talk about other dreams he had had, and Sam was stunned to realize just how long the nightmares had plagued him. The ones from his childhood were vague and hard to remember, but the ones about Jess were fresh in his mind. Sam was embarrassed and ashamed to admit to Jonathan that he'd had dreams of Jessica's death before it had happened, but did not act on them. Jonathan did not react with accusation or disgust the way Sam had anticipated. Instead he pushed Sam to acknowledge what he had learned from the experience. He referred again, as he had before, to the pattern on the floor.

"If we travel the wheel correctly, each step on the journey brings us closer to true understanding. We all make decisions in this life, Sam Winchester. Each choice leads to a new path. It is what we do on the path with what we have learned from our choices that propels us forward." He gave Sam a searching look.

It took Sam a few moments to gather his thoughts. "So you're asking what I've learned from Jess' death?" Jonathan did not respond, instead he waited for Sam to continue. Sam sighed heavily. "…aside from the fact that it was my fault?" he mumbled to himself. Sam distractedly ran his fingers through his hair. "I've learned that these dreams I have warn of the future. What I don't know is if that gives me the power to change what I've seen."

Jonathan nodded as he listened. "I believe that dreams like yours only warn of the most likely outcome…not all of the outcomes."

"Then how can I change it?" Sam cried in anguish. "Every time I fall asleep I see Dean die! I can't let that happen!"

"I believe you have the power to change what it is you have seen, Sam." Jonathan paused thoughtfully. "Do you?"

Sam's brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't know."

"I did not ask you what you know…I asked what you believe."

Sam didn't answer immediately. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall of the smoke-house. Jonathan didn't seem to mind these pauses in conversation; in fact, Sam felt that he encouraged them. With nothing else to occupy his thoughts Sam had no choice but to think about what Jonathan asked.

_Do I have the power to change what I've seen? I know I have some power, but don't know what it's for. In my nightmares, there's nothing that keeps me away from Dean…only my fear. So, do I have power over my fear? _

_I think if it was anything else I'd be more sure. A ghost, a rampaging monster…I could deal with those things. But fire…it makes me freeze. I don't think I can face it._

What he had difficulty admitting was that he understood there was a much bigger power at work in his life, but that was hard to acknowledge. Because acknowledging that higher power might make him beholden to its purpose, and Sam didn't know if he was ready for that. And no matter what purpose a higher power might have for Sam's destiny, he was coming to understand that fire was the way to set it free.

But whether or not Sam was willing to accept the power within him, he could no longer deny that it was there. It had been there his whole life, dormant. Puberty had kind of kicked things up a notch, but Sam had managed to keep a lid on it and for a long time the power slumbered. But the days leading up to Jess' death had heralded a reawakening, and since her death the power had yearned to break free. Sam still had enough control to keep it at bay, and even in his sleep the power could only manifest in his dreams.

Sam was surprised when Jonathan broke the silence, speaking before he did. "Look upon the fire, Sam Winchester."

Obediently, Sam opened his eyes and looked at the small fire crackling merrily in the center of the room. "The wheel is centered on the fire. This is no mistake. There is a fire at the center of all of our journeys, Sam Winchester, just as there is at the center of yours. We believe that the fire at the center of the wheel represents the sacred fire – that place which connects us to the Creator."

Jonathan turned to look at Sam. "The fire at the center of all of us is not to be feared, it must be embraced. It is only then we can begin to understand what is beyond. It is not what you know…it is what you must believe." Jonathan turned his gaze back to the fire, and did not seem inclined to talk further.

Sam was disturbed at how Jonathan seemed to read his mind. Was it possible that the older man had sensed his thoughts about his fear and uncertainty? It seemed unlikely, so Sam didn't pursue it. For some time they sat together in silence. Sam allowed his thoughts to turn inward, and for the first time deliberately tried to examine the boundaries of the power within him. It was like worrying at a sore tooth; poking at it only makes it worse, but it was hard not to.

_Could I do this? Could I really unleash what I've been feeling inside me? What would it do to me?_

_How could I not do it if taking the risk means saving Dean?_

Sam's thoughts turned to Dean, and he unconsciously reached out to determine Dean's location. Because he was so open to self-examination, Sam was surprised to recognize that this was something he did all the time without even thinking about it. From the time they were young, Sam always knew where Dean was, whether or not he wanted him to. He'd fallen out of the habit when he'd gone away to Stanford, but since they'd been on the road, Sam had started doing it again. Sam knew two things in an instant – Dean was no longer in the house and he was hurt.

Sam lurched to his feet. "Dean!"

Sam's heart was hammering in his chest, suddenly the smoke in the room seemed oppressive and too thick to breathe. Jonathan rose when Sam did. "What is wrong?"

"Dean's not in the house. He's hurt. I think we're too late. I think this is it, the start of my dream…and I still don't know how to save him." Sam was practically hyperventilating in panic.

Jonathan laid a calming hand on Sam's chest. "You must believe more than you know, Sam Winchester." Sam stared at him incredulously. "And I believe I can help."

Jonathan wouldn't allow Sam to rush out of the smoke house. He made him take the time to get dressed. Sam wouldn't have understood why if Jonathan had taken the time to explain it, but Jonathan knew that Sam needed the time to clear his head. They walked back to the house in silence. It was clear upon their arrival what had happened there. There was a path of destruction and dishevelment between the living room and the dining room.

Sam picked up the beer bottle that had been upended in the fight. "It looks like something surprised Dean while he was sleeping." Sam tried to observe the scene clinically, but found it difficult to stay detached.

Jonathan nodded in agreement. "You can see the path of his flight. He was trying to get to this." Jonathan pointed at something out of Sam's line of sight. "Look familiar?"

Sam stepped around the couch and into the open doorway between the living room and dining room. There, displayed in a place of honor on the wall, was the knife from his dreams. Sam approached the knife in awe.

"You knew?" he demanded of Jonathan.

"I suspected," Jonathan replied, "when you described the weapon you carried to me." Jonathan reverently took the knife off of the wall. He passed it hilt first to Sam. "This is a ceremonial knife that has been passed down to me through many generations. Young men of our tribe are considered boys until they make their first kill in the hunt. It is the path to adulthood for most of them. But the men of my family were not hunters."

Sam watched as the light was reflected as he turned the knife back and forth in his hand; it was mesmerizing. Jonathan moved closer to Sam and laid a hand on his shoulder. "In my family, the men were shaman. Those who sought to understand the journey we all take. _This _knife was used in _our_ ceremonies. It is not when we shed the blood of the animal in the hunt that we are made men…it is when we shed our own. Sacrifice is your path now, Sam Winchester. It is up to you to decide who will make it, you or your brother."

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Sam was in "hunting" mode. It was easy to follow the trail of whatever it was that had snatched Dean – that was the idea, wasn't it? Sam tried to convince himself that the pounding of his heart was pure adrenaline, but deep down he knew it was due to fear as well. He convulsively clutched the knife in his right hand as he followed the meager light from the flashlight in his left.

Sam's trip through the forest had a sense of hyper-reality and déjà vu. He'd experienced it all before in his nightmares, the only difference was he knew that this trip would be the last. The trees looked familiar, the silent forest was familiar, and the ramshackle house that rose up from behind a fallen oak made his guts twist with remembered fear.

Sam took a deep breath to steady himself. He knew nothing was going to happen until he got into the house – at least if his dreams could be believed. For the moment, Dean was safe. But…if his dreams could be believed, neither one of them would make it out alive – it was best not to count on that. Sam moved ahead and into the house.

In his mind he frantically tried to recall what he had said before in the dreams, or what had been said to him. He couldn't remember any of it – he supposed it was because actions spoke louder than words. Or in his case, inaction spoke louder than words.

_No, not this time. I won't let Dean die. I can't!_

Sam walked through the unfamiliar, yet totally familiar house. He knew without question how to find the stairs and made his way down to the basement. And there were the candles to light his way. He heard a voice whisper, "He's coming." The voice drew him on.

Sam knew exactly what he was going to see when he entered the doorway. Dean was tied to an old wooden table (_alter_) near the center of the room. He was surrounded by neat stacks of kindling. Sam's heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest. Everything Jonathan had said about believing and embracing the fire at the center of the wheel flew out of Sam's head when the malevolent voice greeted him. "Welcome, young one. I've been waiting for you for a long time."

Sam was relieved when Dean's head whipped around. If Dean was conscious, he'd have a better chance of getting him out of there. He could see Dean was trying to speak, and was struggling against the ropes that held him.

"Come in." the creature continued. Its voice sent a shiver of revulsion down Sam's spine. "It's time we took care of business."

Sam stepped resolutely into the room. He was impressed with how steady his voice sounded when he finally began to speak. "I've come for my brother."

He had to get closer to Dean, and he had to do it quickly. If he could just cut through _one_ of the ropes, the rest would fall away and Dean would be free.

"Of course, of course. That's why we're all here. All it'll take to free him is one slice from that knife."

It disturbed Sam that the creature had put what he had just been thinking into words. It was too easy. He knew it, and he could see that Dean knew it too. Dean was still trying to speak, but was unable to produce anything audible. But Sam could read the expression on his face, and it wasn't anything he remembered from his dreams. Dean wasn't struggling because he was worried about himself; he was trying to break free because he was worried about Sam. It made Sam pause.

"You hesitate, little one." Sam almost laughed out loud when Dean rolled his eyes. _ I don't remember ever wanting to laugh in my nightmares. Are things already different enough to be changed?_

The creature seemed to think Sam's approach was taking too long. "Perhaps your brother doesn't mean as much to you as I thought. I shall put you to the test."

The sound of a sword being drawn from a scabbard held a frighteningly familiar tone to Sam, and all of his doubts came crashing back. Dean was expecting a blow from the sword, so he flinched violently when flames shot out and surrounded him instead. Even with the rope severely constricting his airway, Dean turned and shouted, "Sam!"

Sam got a good look at Dean's face before the flames intensified and blocked him from view. He was sad and disappointed. He was angry at himself because he had failed. He didn't blame Sam for failing him, he blamed himself for failing Sam, because in that final look that passed between them, Dean was certain that Sam would leap into the fire in an attempt to save his live, and instead give up his own.

Sam was stunned. All this time, all these weeks, he'd been obsessing about his fears – how he didn't know if, when the time came, he would be able to face the fire. Dean had no doubts at all, and that's what spurred Sam into action. Jonathan's words echoed in his head, _It is not what you know, it is what you believe._ Sam's fear was not nearly as great as his desire not to let his brother down. "Dean!"

He leapt into the fire.

Even as he slid the knife under the rope around Dean's neck, Sam could feel the fire reaching for him. The look on Dean's face was one of total horror, and then his eyes rolled back into his head. "Dean!" Sam shook Dean hoping that if he roused him enough he might be able to make it out of the inferno on his own. When Dean didn't respond, Sam knew he had the responsibility of getting them both out.

Sam was shaking uncontrollably with pain from the flames that sought to consume him. The creature was standing nearby chortling with glee. That's when Sam felt his power leaving him – the creature was drawing it away, as if it was his to take. Sam was incensed, and instead of trying to fight the fire, he invited it in. Sam closed his eyes and pulled the flames closer until they filled him up with more power than he ever knew he had. The creature reacted with anger yelling denials, but Sam couldn't make out his words over the rush of the flames.

Sam rose up on his knees as he pulled the power that had been stolen from him back from the creature. The creature shrieked in madness and attacked Sam with his sword. Sam met the wide overhand arc from the sword with the knife in his right hand and pushed the creature away. Sam pursued immediately, pushing the fight away from where Dean lay – any uncontrolled blow could unintentionally cost Dean his life.

Sam felt a rush of power that came not from the fire, but from the course of action he had chosen to take. He went on the offensive, pushing the creature further and further away from Dean. Sam was filled with light and purpose, and for the first time, got a good look at the creature who had stolen so much in his life. It was disconcerting to realize he looked like an average man. He was so nondescript, it would be simple to lose him in a crowd and almost impossible to pick him out of a line-up. How was it that something that appeared so innocuous could be the source of so much fear and pain?

Sam had had enough. "You want to feel my power?! TAKE IT!" With an underhand sweep, Sam drove his knife up under the creature's ribs until it was buried in its heart. The creature was instantly engulfed in flames and screamed in agony as it collapsed against the basement wall. Sam screamed as well as his power was released – it coursed through his body, changing every molecule it burned through.

Sam pulled the knife out of the creature's chest and watched impassively as it fell to the ground consumed in the flames it had thought to use against Sam. For a long moment, all Sam could do was stand frozen and try to get his ragged breathing under control. He looked blankly at the basement wall as it was licked by orange-yellow flames. The heat on his face brought him back to reality. The fire was no longer his to control, and the house they were in was a fire-trap.

Hastily, Sam wiped Jonathan's knife on the leg of his jeans as he turned back to Dean. Hoisting his brother over his shoulders, Sam made a break for the door. The trip up the rickety stairs and through the dilapidated house was hellish; the flames moved faster than Sam. But he managed to get the both of them out of the house. Depositing Dean at the base of a large tree a fair distance from the house, Sam turned back to watch it burn. It seemed to be a pattern in his life – watching houses burn.

Then Sam did something that was probably crazy, but he felt compelled to do, and somehow he knew it would work. He walked back toward the house. When he was standing before the porch that was engulfed in flames, he stopped and closed his eyes. One thing Sam understood about fire was that it was greedy. Often when fires raged out of control, it was looking for a life. This fire had wanted his, but had gotten another.

_Take the house. Take everything within. You were called to take a life…and you took one. Please, don't take any more._

Sam was relieved beyond belief when the fire acquiesced. Maybe it was because it had been a part of him for a time. Maybe it was satisfied with the power it received from the life it had consumed. It didn't matter why. The fire wouldn't spread into the forest.

Exhausted, Sam returned to where Dean lay unmoving. Suddenly he could not stand the idea of being alone. He dropped to his knees next to Dean and gave him a shake. "Dean?" He tried again, louder. "Dean!"

Sam could see Dean's eyes rolling around under his eyelids. He took that as a good sign. "Dean!" he demanded again.

This time Dean groaned in response and before he even opened his eyes he was reaching out for Sam. "Sam? Sammy?" Dean had him by the jacket, and Sam let himself be pulled in close so Dean could see his face. "Sammy."

Sam cracked a smile, so relieved to be doing something so normal. "It's Sam." Then he just couldn't take it anymore and gave up any pretense of being strong or invulnerable. He scooted closer to Dean and dropped his head on his shoulder. Sam couldn't stop the tremors that shook his body.

Sam was so grateful that Dean didn't push him away. And when he put an arm around Sam's shoulder, it made him want to weep. He might have if Dean wouldn't have called him a pansy.

"What happened Sam?" Sam really didn't want to relive the whole thing right now – even if the ending was far better than he expected.

"Is it safe to stay here, Sam?" Sam nodded. "Then tell me what happened."

It was just like when they were kids and Sam had one of his nightmares, he would curl himself under Dean's arm…if you didn't call it a hug, it didn't count. Sam knew that was the safest place in the world.

"Remember that secret I never told you…"

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

Dean did not know what to make of what Sam had told him. Dreams of Jess, dreams of him, dreams that came true – this was the kind of stuff they hunted down…it wasn't supposed to happen in their own family. But, whatever weirdness was going on, Sam was in bad shape, and they couldn't stay here in the woods any longer.

"C'mon, Sam." Dean ordered. "We gotta go." Sam only nodded in response and he allowed Dean to help haul him to his feet.

Dean was a little fuzzy on how exactly they got back to Jonathan's. Sam must have guided them because Dean didn't know the way at all; but by the time they were close enough to the house for Dean to make out where they were going, Sam had basically collapsed. Jonathan had met them at the edge of the forest and helped Dean maneuver Sam back into the house. Together they'd stripped Sam of his charred and smoke filled clothing; he was as pliant as a rag doll, and though his eyes were opened, he didn't respond to Dean at all. His eyes closed as soon as they laid him back on the pillows; his breathing was deep and even. He was truly, deeply asleep.

For a while after Sam was settled Dean stood watch, hovering by the foot of the bed like a guardian spirit. Sam looked peaceful; far more relaxed than he'd been at any time since they'd started hunting together again. But in spite of his calm countenance, all Dean could see was the flames. Sam had jumped into the fire to save him, and it had roasted him alive. Dean saw it. It was the one thing he could remember clear as day from the whole encounter. As soon as Sam jumped in to free him, the flames drew together – they actually pulled away from Dean, he was sure of it – and Sam was engulfed.

Jonathan interrupted his reverie, insisting that since Sam was settled Dean needed to take care of himself too. Before leaving the room, Dean reached over and took hold of Sam's foot; he gave it a little squeeze. Jonathan couldn't tell if he was reassuring himself that Sam was really there or reassuring Sam that he'd be right back.

A quick shower and a change of clothes didn't completely remove the smell of smoke clinging to Dean, but it helped. He and Jonathan settled in the kitchen. The small kitchen table was in a position where Dean could see into the guest room where Sam was sleeping. Jonathan had mixed some concoction of herbs and other things Dean couldn't identify into a paste to soothe the rope burns and bruising on Dean's throat. Dean honestly didn't know how much pain he was in until Jonathan started to apply the salve; then he shoved the pain aside – his minor bumps and bruises were nothing compared to what Sammy had gone through.

Jonathan didn't insist on talking and Dean was grateful. There was nothing wrong with silence, and there was too much he was trying to sort out in his head. He didn't want Jonathan to go all Oprah on him; he just wasn't ready for that. It wasn't until Dean stood up, ready to return to his vigil that he realized Jonathan had pulled a fast one on him – his limbs were heavy and unresponsive; he could barely keep his balance. Dean looked down at the mug of coffee he'd been drinking from, and then shot Jonathan a murderous look. Apparently, the salve on his neck wasn't the only thing Jonathan had concocted. Jonathan gave him a totally unapologetic look and guided Dean into the guest bedroom where Sam was sleeping. Dean fought him every step of the way.

"I can't sleep now, Jonathan. What if Sammy needs me?" Dean was unable to resist when Jonathan pushed him into a seated position on the twin bed next to Sam's.

"You cannot help him sleep, Dean. You both need time to heal."

"Someone needs to be on guard!" Dean insisted.

"I will take the watch." Jonathan calmly replied as he gave Dean a gentle shove sending him back onto the pillows. Dean couldn't prevent the tiny sigh of relief that escaped him when his body began to relax. His eye actually fluttered closed for a moment. Then tension crept in and he forced himself back into a seated position.

"The last time I fell asleep, something walked right in this house and attacked me." Jonathan was certain that the naked panic on Dean's face was something his younger brother had never seen.

With great understanding Jonathan replied, "I will guard you both, Dean Winchester. Be at ease. You are safe."

It took a moment for Dean to let the words sink in. In his head, he knew the risks of both him and Sam being totally out of it, especially in light of what had just happened; but in his heart he believed what Jonathan was saying was true. The old man had power, and Dean trusted that it was enough to keep them safe.

Dean allowed himself to fall back onto the pillows. He curled onto his side so he was facing Sam. The instant his eyes closed he was asleep. Jonathan gently covered him with the blanket he had retrieved from the closet. Then he turned off the lamp on the small table between the two beds. Standing in the stillness, Jonathan extended his hands over each of the sleeping men and softly whispered, "_Wakan Tankan Nici Un_" before turning to leave the room and reinforce the protections that had been weakened by the evil creature that had invaded his home.

* * *

Sam awoke in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed. That in itself wasn't unusual; he and Dean traveled so much that being in an unfamiliar room wasn't disturbing in and of itself. What was unusual, what had caught Sam's attention was _how_ he woke up – there was no scream dying in his throat; there was no pounding heart in his chest; there were no aching limbs filled with adrenaline. He was totally relaxed. And it was so unusual to wake in that condition that it got his attention.

Sam blinked at the ceiling above his bed. He didn't like looking at ceilings, not after what happened to Jess and his mom, but this ceiling was different. Stuck in seemingly random patterns were glow-in-the-dark stars. The room was dark enough for the stars to be illuminated. The more he looked at them the more he realized that there was a pattern. The stars stretched not just above his bed, but across the whole ceiling; and looking more closely he could start to pick out certain constellations. Sam couldn't prevent himself from grinning – that was cool.

_Where the hell am I?_

Sam didn't move his body, he was too relaxed. Instead he let his gaze wander around the moonlight room. _Didn't Dean say Jonathan had grandchildren? I bet this is their room. _ The posters of cars and horses on the walls seemed to confirm Sam's suspicions. _How did I get back here? Where's Dean?_

No longer relaxed, Sam sat straight up in bed. But a quick glance to his left located Dean instantly. The sight of Dean made Sam's heart leap and break simultaneously. He was filled with joy that he'd been able to defeat the thing that had tried to take Dean from him, but it wasn't without a price. Sam could see the black and purple bruises encircling Dean's throat, and the rope burns on top of that. Dean was normally a stomach sleeper, but he was sleeping on his back to avoid putting any added pressure on his wounds.

Sam threw off the covers and slid across to sit on Dean's bed. He was concerned – no one ever got that close to a sleeping Dean. Feeling slightly silly, but needing to reassure himself, Sam laid his hand on Dean's chest to feel it rise and fall. He sat for a moment with his eyes closed just listening to Dean breathe. A change in the light from the doorway got Sam's attention. Jonathan beckoned him silently, and Sam got up and padded softly out to the kitchen. Jonathan sat at the table with his back to the bedroom; Sam sat across from him so he could see Dean. On the table between them was the knife Sam had used to kill the creature stalking him.

"It's done then." Sam said as he fingered the knife hilt.

"This part of the journey is complete, Sam Winchester." Sam heaved a deep sigh and looked at Jonathan. Then he smiled – it completely transformed his face. Gone was the haggard, tortured man, for a brief moment he was replaced by the vibrant, loving boy Sam rarely had a chance to be.

"What now?" Sam asked.

"The wheel turns. A new journey begins."

"And the nightmares?" Sam's brown was creased with concern.

"The dreams have only the power you give them. I believe you will no longer give up so much." Sam nodded as he listened. "New dreams will come, but now you see how the outcome may change." Jonathan turned and looked over his shoulder toward the room where Dean lay sleeping. "Your nightmares never ended this way. You have the power to change things."

"It was Dean." Sam whispered softly.

Jonathan turned back to face Sam, listening. "I was immobilized…just like I was in every nightmare. The fire…everything happened so fast…" Sam swallowed hard as he was speaking. "Dean cried out and I saw his face. He knew…he _knew _I would come for him. That's what made me move…not what I believed but what he believed."

"Are they not the same, Sam Winchester?"

Sam looked up from playing with the knife and looked Jonathan in they eye. "I guess they are." He half-smiled and dropped his gaze. "You know," he continued softly, "it's so strange. Dean's usually the one jumping in to save my ass from whatever it is that we're fighting. Stuff always comes after me. I'm not usually the protector." He looked up at Jonathan again. "It's kinda nice for a change."

"I believe Dean would disagree." Sam snorted as he tried to choke back a laugh.

Sam and Jonathan sat for a while until Sam's bladder demanded to be taken care of. When he was finished, Sam returned to bed and not to the kitchen. He curled himself under the blankets facing the bed where Dean lay. The last thing that crossed his mind before he fell asleep again was _I wonder if I could have a dream to help us find Dad…_

* * *

Sam had been unconscious for nearly a day and a half; Dean was starting to worry. It wasn't just that he was sleeping – it was that he hardly moved. Jonathan reassured him many times that Sam was simply sleeping; that he had been up and talking when Dean was asleep, but Dean wasn't so ready to take his word for it. It was kind of ridiculous really, that now that the nightmares had passed Dean was concerned that Sam was getting_ too_ much sleep, but that's where he was.

The day had dawned clear and sunny. Dean had spent much of his time hovering in the bedroom until Jonathan had convinced him to go outside. The porch was about as far as Dean would go, but since there was a window into the guest bedroom where he could see Sam, it was fine with him. Dean had spent much of the morning rehashing the events from the previous day with Jonathan. He seemed particularly obsessed with the idea that the creature had been stalking Sam for some time, and that their father knew about it.

In a far more limited way than he'd shared with Sam, Jonathan tried to explain the philosophy of the medicine wheel with Dean. As open as Sam had been to the idea, Dean was completely closed. He would go no further in his thinking than "find the bad things, kill the bad things." He resolutely refused to engage in any self-examination that might lead to enlightenment or change. His stubborn resolve was fascinating to Jonathan. He wondered what would move the young man to cling so fanatically to only those things that could be grasped or seen, when so much of his life was spent chasing the ephemeral. Maybe that was why – there was so much uncertainty in the world Dean lived in, he could not accept uncertainty within himself.

So Jonathan was surprised when Dean asked him about Sam. "All this mumbo jumbo spirit stuff you're talking about. Sam gets it, doesn't he?"

Jonathan nodded but did not answer Dean directly. "He understands that his path has changed. Are you willing to change yours to walk with him?"

Dean squinted into the late afternoon sunlight. "My path hasn't changed…Sam just came back to it after jumping ship for a while."

"I do not mean the path you choose to take, but how you choose to travel on it." Dean looked at Jonathan in utter confusion.

"Okay, now you've gone all Mr. Miagi on me…wax on…wax off…"

"You have traveled so long as the one in front, the protector, the leader. But now that your brother has rejoined his path to yours, will you be willing to follow? Allow him to be the one to protect you?"

Jonathan could see by the expression on Dean's face that his initial reaction was to make a flip response. Dean surprised Jonathan again by remaining silent and thinking about what was asked. Before Dean could reply soft footfalls on the porch heralded the arrival of Sam.

"Hey." The Winchesters made eye contact and something passed between them. Though Jonathan sensed how they longed to connect physically, long standing ingrained habits prevented them from approaching each other. It saddened him to realize that they only really opened up to one another when the other one was injured or sleeping.

"Hey Sammy. Think you got enough sleep?"

"Yeah. Think so." Sam leaned his lanky frame against the porch railing. And that was it.

* * *

Early the next morning, after one more night spent at Jonathan's house, the Winchesters were ready to hit the road. Jonathan walked them out to the car.

Sam made himself busy packing the trunk as Dean said good-bye. Dean allowed his normal disaffected façade to slip as he extended his hand to Jonathan. "Thanks for all your help, Jonathan. I don't know…"

Jonathan pulled him into a quick embrace. "It was my duty to help, Dean Winchester…it was also my honor. You are welcome." Dean nodded in acknowledgement and walked around to the driver's side of the car to get in. Sam stepped forward from the rear and also extended his hand.

"Jonathan, I can't thank you enough…for everything." Jonathan also embraced Sam.

"Continue to believe Sam. The journey has just begun." Sam flashed a rare smile at Jonathan and clambered into the passenger side of the car. Before Dean could start the engine, Jonathan laid his hands on the roof of the car and began speaking. His rich, deep voice was filled with power; Sam and Dean sat in silence as they listened.

"_May the Warm Winds of Heaven  
Blow softly upon your house.  
May the Great Spirit  
Bless all who enter there.  
May your Moccasins  
Make happy tracks  
in many snows,  
and may the Rainbow  
Always touch your shoulder_."

Jonathan leaned down and peered through Sam's open window. "Be well on your journey, Winchesters. Don't be strangers."

Sam raised a hand in farewell as Dean turned on the engine. It took Sam a moment to realize that Dean had turned off the radio before he'd started the car. They drove away from the small house in comfortable silence.

* * *

In the midst of the ancient woods near the shores of Lake Tenkiller a smoldering house lay in ruins. The rubble of the decimated structure had fallen into the basement; the intense heat from the fire had left nothing but ash. In the far corner of the ruined basement a movement caused the ash to stir. More movement sent up a puff of ash. Finally a figure emerged from beneath the ash where it had been buried. The naked figure pulled itself up from the pit of the basement, clawing its way to the forest floor. It wiped the ash from its face and glared with unremitting hatred toward a road unseen. The boy had gotten away. Escaped with his power.

The figure took a step toward the forest. The boy was foolish to think he would be killed that easily. Now he did not seek the power for power's sake…now it was revenge.

* * *

The End

* * *

Translation of blessing over the boys:

_Wakan Tankan Nici Un_ - "May the Great Spirit walk with you."

The blessing over the car is a traditional Cherokee blessing


End file.
